Just Like You
by yellowNight
Summary: Roles reverse after House makes a startling discovery in Wilson's desk. HouseWilsonCuddy friendship. No slash, but lots of angst. COMPLETE 1.15.08
1. Chapter 1

**Fic: Just Like You**

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine!**

**a/n: Hey guys! Thank you for all the reviews on my last fic! Its finals time, so of course this idea inconveniently popped into my head. I have a few chapters written already, and I'll try my best to keep this updated. And I promise, no character deaths this time! (and possibly even a happy ending lol) Enjoy!**

House flipped on the lights in Wilson's office and sat in one of the chairs facing his desk.

Normally, Wilson's unlocked office would have presented the perfect opportunity to play pranks, but he wasn't in the mood. He had fallen on the icy sidewalk that morning outside of his apartment, and his leg had been causing him more trouble than usual as a result. He figured he would wait for Wilson to return from wherever he was, and then ask for a ride home. House noticed yesterday's newspaper poking out from under some of Wilson's files. He tugged at it, causing all the papers on Wilson's desk to shift.

And that's when it came into view.

He stared at it for a moment and then glanced toward the door out of reflex. He picked it up.

House turned the pill between his thumb and index finger, examining it in the light. He knew those rounded edges, the pale green color. He recognized the familiar old friend, and for a moment he smiled with pride at his own vast knowledge of pills. This was his forte. He liked to consider himself a connoisseur of sorts.

The moment passed, though, and he could feel a cold panic rise from the pit of his stomach. He moved the files on Wilson's desk frantically looking for others, or at least for another clue.

There was nothing on the desktop, so he moved to the drawers. The bottom drawer held an answer. A plastic bag with about twenty other pills identical to the one he clenched in his hand.

House took the bag and rushed to Cuddy's office.

"I'm busy," Cuddy said as soon as he opened the door.

House held up pills. "Look at these," he demanded.

"Wow, green. Did you come all the way down here to show me that your pain killers now come in new colors?" Cuddy snipped, picking up her phone and starting to dial.

"This is Oxycodon," House said loudly.

Cuddy placed the phone back in its cradle, "You idiot!" Her voice began to rise, "You didn't learn the first-

"They were in Wilson's desk," House cut her off.

Cuddy's eyes became wide, her mouth slightly agape.

"And I take it from your expression you don't know what the hell they were doing in there, either," House said quietly.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Fic: Just Like You**

**Chapter 2**

**a/n Thanks for the reviews! They always make my day :-) I really hope you enjoy this chapter, and just to let you know, I have through chapter four already written. I'm thinking around 6 chapters for this one? We'll see, I'll go where the fic/reader interest takes me.**

"So what, were you just snooping through Wilson's desk for the hell of it?" Cuddy's voice was accusing.

House cocked his head back, "You're mad at _me_? I think the whole Wilson-on-drugs issue is the more important one here."

"Really, House. I'm sure that he has a perfectly logical excuse for these," she said, pointing toward the pills. She continued, her voice lowered to a growl, " Why were you going through his desk? Answer me!"

House was so startled by Cuddy's misguided anger that he stalled. She jumped on his silence, "It's not like Wilson just left the pills out on his desk!"

"He did exactly that! He left the pills out on his desk—I didn't find them on my weekly comb through of Wilson's belongings! One of the pills was underneath a newspaper. I found it when I tried to grab the sports section," House words were too loud, his frustration getting the better of him. He noticed the glare had melted from Cuddy's face and she had returned to the deer-in-the-headlights expression she had when he first entered.

"So what do we do now?" Cuddy asked, her voice suddenly meek.

"You were right about one thing. It's Wilson. He probably has some sort of excuse," House paused.

"Like what?" Cuddy asked.

House held her gaze but said nothing—his way of saying _I don't know._

"We can get him into some sort of rehab if he needs it. Not the one upstairs, though. No good in tarnishing his name," House said, his composure returning.

"Greg, are you sure you should be the one to confront him?" Cuddy asked, placing her hand on top of his.

For a moment he had forgotten himself. His own addiction had faded into the background. Cuddy brought him back to reality, though, and he realized the absurdity of the situation.

He stared at the window behind Cuddy's desk, "At least he'll know I mean it when I tell him that I understand what he is going through."

Cuddy sighed, "So where is he, anyway?"

"He's somewhere in the hospital, but he'll probably be leaving soon" House replied.

"So should we go to his office or have him come here?"

With that, the pain that had been bothering House for the past couple of hours returned, and he sat in the chair across from Cuddy's desk, "Have him come here."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**a/n: extra long! hope you enjoy :-)**

Wilson entered Cuddy's office with his briefcase in hand and his coat slung over his arm.

Cuddy crossed her arms and stood behind her desk. House stared toward the floor.

"What's the matter?" Wilson asked immediately, sensing the tension in the air.

"We need to talk. Sit," Cuddy ordered. Her tone was unassuming, but her posture betrayed her emotions. Wilson looked alarmed.

Cuddy said nothing, and looked toward House to continue. He shook his head slightly, and Wilson let out a nervous laugh, "You're scaring me. Tell me what's wrong."

Cuddy uncrossed her arms revealing the bag of pills in her hand.

"What are those?" Wilson asked a little too quickly.

"We think you know the answer to that," Cuddy kept her voice steady.

"Are they yours?" Wilson turned to House.

House wanted to laugh in return, but instead he just raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders.

"We know these are yours. House found them in your desk," Cuddy replied, mildly surprised that Wilson would make such an obvious move and try to blame the pills on the drug addict.

Wilson was silent for a moment.

"So do you go through my desk often?" Wilson asked, his tone mirroring the anger Cuddy expressed before.

"Just this once," House replied, his fatigue evident his voice.

"I don't believe you! My private-

"He only went through your desk because he saw one of the pills on your desktop. We aren't accusing you of anything. We just want to know the reason," Cuddy said, her voice becoming high, her nerves finally exposing themselves as she came closer to the truth.

Wilson stammered, but no real words were formed.

House's voice sounded unfamiliar, too, "We can get you help, if that's what you need."

"I can't believe you think that I would use drugs! How long have you known me?" Wilson was becoming hysterical.

"Exactly, which is why we would understand if there was some extenuating circumstance," Cuddy's voice trailed off.

Wilson stood and pulled on his coat. He shuddered a bit and suddenly returned to his normal, cool demeanor, "Listen, I don't have the time for this. You know me, and you know I wouldn't jeopardize my career over something so stupid. I'm tired. If we must, can we continue this tomorrow?"

Cuddy said nothing, but as Wilson reached for the doorknob, House came up next to him and grabbed his wrist. He wasn't rough, but it was enough to startle Wilson into a frozen stance. His jaw slightly dropped at the sight of House's piercing stare.

"Tell us why you have the pain killers, and then you can go," House's grip slightly tightened on Wilson's arm.

"From you, of all people," Wilson said, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

"I'm your friend, James," House replied, his grip unwavering.

"You're a drug addict," Wilson tried to pull his arm away, causing House to lose his balance. He leaned against the wall for support.

"I care about you," House said, averting his gaze back to the floor.

"Oh come on! Don't give me that crap. You don't care about anybody—I'm just a tool to you. Your next free lunch, your next ride home. I'm not your _friend_, I'm just the last person who tolerates you!"

Wilson moved quickly to open the door again, but House smacked his arm with his cane, causing him to jump back.

"You think you're going to get off that easily?" House said with a laugh that almost sounded malicious. "In case you haven't noticed, it takes a lot more than that crappy excuse for an insult to hurt my feelings," House's tone was mocking, any trace of sensitivity vanished.

Wilson met House's icy glare with one of surprise.

Cuddy cleared her throat, "We can get your help."

"DAMNIT! What do I have to do to prove I'm not using drugs!" Wilson yelled.

"Pee in a cup. We'll bring it to the lab," House said, straightening his back and leaning toward Wilson, making his height advantage seem even larger than it was.

"I'm not-

"Why not?" Cuddy asked.

"I screwed up! Keep those," Wilson motioned to the pills, "I'm done, okay?" His voice was agitated and he threw his hands up in defeat.

Cuddy shook her head in disappointment, "Oh James."

"You idiot," House grumbled.

"House!" Cuddy snapped.

"I'm leaving," Wilson said in a tone that could only be construed as disgust.

"Walk out that door and you no longer work here," Cuddy said so quietly that he thought he had imagined it.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**a/n: Finals are over, so I have more time to write/read over what I wrote to make sure it makes sense. I definitly have a few more chapters up my sleeve! hope you enjoy ;-)**

Wilson turned, and his face was contorted as though he was going to cry. "Please. My career is all I have left. If this gets out," his voice was nearly a whisper.

"That's one of the benefits of having a boss who is also a close friend," Cuddy said gently.

"So what? Rehab? Then what?" Wilson said, his voice still mildly agitated.

"You skipped over the worst part. Get through the detox and then we'll start making plans," House replied without sympathy.

"I don't think it'll be that bad. I haven't been using that much or for that long," Wilson's cheeks flushed and he stared at his shoes as he spoke.

"When was your last dose?" House asked.

"About four hours ago."

"You feel that ache radiating from the back of your eyes?"

"A little."

"Just wait. It'll go from an ache to a throb within the next two hours. It'll wrap its way around your skull and down your neck. And that's just part of it. There's the tremors, the puking and _just wait_ until-

"Alright already. I understand," Wilson stopped House in a gesture of defeat.

"We won't have you admitted here. You decide—we'll go to any hospital you want. We can go out of state even," Cuddy said, the control returning to her voice.

"Why wasn't any of this offered to me?" House asked. He didn't get a response, and he didn't expect one.

Wilson didn't seem sold on the idea. "The insurance," was all he said, bringing his hand to his forehead.

House looked to Cuddy to let her know he had forgotten about that, and she bit her lip in return.

"Guess there's no keeping this one a secret," Wilson said, finally moving from the door to the chair across from Cuddy.

"It doesn't ruin your career. It's not something you should stick at the top of your resume, but you'll get through it," House squeezed his eyes shut after he finished speaking. The ache he had just finished telling Wilson about was growing behind his own eyes. He had never felt awkward about taking a Vicodin in front of his friend until this moment.

"What about at-home detox?" Wilson finally asked.

"You don't have a home," House replied sharply.

Wilson rolled his eyes, "It's not like I'm living on the streets."

"And then what?" Cuddy asked.

"Out patient treatment. NA, counseling, whatever you want," he was starting to sound like himself again.

"But not in your hotel room. My house," Cuddy said firmly."Too many stairs. If we're really carrying out this asinine plan, then we'll do it at my place," House interjected.

The three looked at each other, the entire situation feeling surreal and backwards.

"I'll drive," House sighed.

---

House drove a little faster than usual, his head aching and his leg aching even worse. He was waiting for an opportunity to grab one of the extra pills he kept loose in the car's ashtray without Wilson noticing.

"You just missed the turn," Wilson mumbled.

House drove toward the onramp for the parkway.

"Did you really think I was going to let you detox in my apartment? There are pills in every cabinet and under every couch cushion." House's tone was mocking. Wilson sat straight up, "Then where the hell are we going?"

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

"The airport," House said calmly.

"But what about Cuddy?"

"What about her? Here," House tossed his cell phone to Wilson, "Call her. Tell her you changed your mind and I'm taking you to the airport. Tell her you're going to the Spruce Valley facility."

"In case you haven't noticed, I didn't change my mind!" Wilson yelled.

"I have to do everything," House snapped, taking the phone from Wilson's hand.

The conversation was quick, and Wilson remained silent.

"Pull over."

"We're on the turnpike."

"Pull over NOW."

"We'll be there in forty minutes. We'll talk then," House said, leaving no room for argument.

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

---

House pulled the car into the parking lot of a deli down the block from the airport. He turned the ignition off. The only sound came from the planes overhead.

"It's a facility in North Carolina that specializes in doctors with addiction. Cuddy found it for me a few months back," House finally informed Wilson.

"Were you listening to _anything_ that was said earlier?"

"Sure. So we'll register you under a fake name."

"The insurance, remember?"

"Pay in cash," House said, as though it was incredibly obvious.

"Of course. Because I happen to have fifteen grand saved just in case I ever felt like going to rehab."

House chose to ignore Wilson's sarcasm. "No, but I do."

"Sure you would. You get threatened with rehab once a week by Cuddy. If I were in your situation I would have started the rehab fund years ago."

"We'll call it even for all those lunches you've bought me," House replied quietly.

Wilson turned to House, "Are you serious?"

"The plane tickets are on you, though."

"Why are you doing this?" Wilson asked, skepticism lacing his voice.  
"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

"Seriously, House. Why are you doing this?"

House remained silent. He didn't turn to look at Wilson, but kept his eyes trained on the airplanes.

"You have too much to lose," House mumbled.

"Don't you see the irony in this?"

"I'm an addict and a hypocrite. I get it," House replied.

"And not to sound like an adolescent, but why should I take any advice from you? It's not like you've managed to clean up your act." Wilson knew he was pushing his luck, and that House was about to get angry. That's what he wanted.

"If you think that we're in the same boat, you've got it completely wrong," House said, still holding his composure.

"I'm addicted to pain killers! I think that puts us in the same situation," Wilson said, getting frustrated by House's lack of emotion.

House just shook his head, "You'll go to rehab, you'll get cleaned up, and this will all just be a bad memory." Wilson was not sure why House's voice suddenly sounded so bitter, but he was glad for it. He needed to see that House had some sort of investment in this beyond preserving his drug source.

"Why don't you do the same? Go to rehab, get cleaned up, make this all a bad memory?"

"Damnit James! Don't you get it?" House's voice was loud and his eyes became wide as he finally turned to look at Wilson, "You have time! You can get married again, have kids, retire one day to a house on a lake. You can still live a _normal_ life!"

"So can you! You're 48, not 75," Wilson responded, his voice no longer angry.

House laughed bitterly, "We've had very different lives. And it's all been the same for me. Sure there were times when I was clean, but it always comes back in another form. Alcohol as a teenager, amphetamines during med school, coke through my twenties. It's a wonder I've gotten this far. But you—I don't know what the hell possessed you to start, but I'll personally see to it that you never even think about taking another pill."

"So the difference between us is that you're hopeless and I'm not? Is that what you're trying to say?" Wilson asked, his tone incredulous.

"Don't be so dramatic," House replied quickly.

Wilson stared back at him. A car pulled into the parking lot to make a U-turn, and the bright headlights cast a glow through the car. House noticed that there was something distinctly missing.

"I need one of these," House said blandly, opening the ashtray, exposing the ten emergency pills.

Wilson just shook his head and sighed, "So that's it?"

"We aren't discussing this anymore." House took out two pills, "Do you want one?"

"Are you serious?"

"You aren't in rehab yet," House responded.

"No thanks, maybe later," Wilson was clearly annoyed.

"Last chance," House said, moving to close the ashtray.

"Not my drug of choice," Wilson turned toward the window.

House broke the pill in half. He took half and swallowed it. He took the other half and chewed it, the bitter taste causing him to grimace. He rubbed it along his gums, the effect of the pill instant.

"Why would you lie to me?" House asked in the same tone he used when he interrogated a patient.

"What?" Wilson looked surprised.

"At this point you wouldn't have 'a drug of choice' and you would be diaphoretic," House suddenly sounded fatigued.

Wilson was speechless.

"So, what could be so terrible that you would let this little drug addict act go so far?"

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter** **6**

**a/n: Sorry this took so long! I think there will only be one or two more chapters after this one. I've already started my next fic, but I promise to give this one a proper conclusion before moving on :-) hope you enjoy!! reviews always appreciated!**

"Let me guess. Now you're going to try some clichéd line, like _you wouldn't understand_right?" House was leaning toward Wilson and he spoke quickly.

Wilson let his head fall against the back of his seat. He was literally trapped, "No, actually, you _would_ understand. And that's part of the problem."

"You have two choices. Make it simple and tell me what the hell is going on, or give me time and I'll figure it out on my own. Either way, we aren't leaving," House pulled the keys out of ignition for added effect and placed them on the dashboard.

Wilson rubbed his eyes and laughed a humorless laugh.

"Look at me," House demanded. His voice suddenly lost its abrasiveness, "It's just you and me."

Wilson realized that even if it was only temporary, House was in his rare human form. He took a deep breath.

"Three weeks ago, I prescribed those to a 37-year-old mother who was dying of ovarian cancer." Wilson paused, and House stared at him intently in anticipation.

"Two days later, her husband came in. He was livid. He said that if anything I was ruining his wife's last days. The oxycodone was having just about every negative side effect possible. He handed me the pills, and I saw my mistake instantly," Wilson shook his head. "I prescribed 80 milligrams. I don't know what I was thinking. She was 120 pounds. I prescribed enough to satisfy _you_," House smirked at Wilson's innocent jab.

Wilson continued slowly, "I apologized immediately and I wrote a new prescription for a lower dosage. I took the pills to waste them, and one of the nurses signed as witness. The thing was," he paused before continuing, "She signed before I even went into drug lockup. She was busy, and we do that kind of thing for each other all the time. I've known Maria for years, and at this point we know that neither of us would ever even think of taking the leftovers. But, as I stood there, I realized how easy it would be. The patient took only two of the thirty I had prescribed. Twenty-eight, at 80 miligrams a piece...

House looked away. He watched as another airplane took off.

"When did I become you, House?" Wilson asked quietly.

House ignored Wilson's question. "Were you trying to figure out the best time to take the pills or were they just," he trailed off for a moment, weighing his words carefully, "or were they just an option?"

"I don't know," Wilson sighed.

"Of course you do. But maybe its better you don't answer that," House rubbed his forehead.

"I'm such a damn hypocrite. I call you a coward for trying to kill yourself while I have my out sitting in the bottom drawer of my desk."

"You're not a hypocrite."

"What do you call it?"

"Being a good friend."

Wilson gave House a look that signaled he wasn't buying it, but House continued. "I was ready to send you to rehab just a couple minutes ago. It's what friends do for each other. We call each other's attention to the flaws that we may be too blind to see in ourselves," House raised his eyebrows as he spoke, surprised by his own words.

Wilson couldn't help but laugh gently, "Did you read that on a Hallmark card?"

"Hey, I'm trying here," House responded with a sad smile.

"I don't know how long I can go on like this," Wilson's voice dropped to a whisper.

"I would never wish that feeling on anyone, and the fact that you're experiencing that emptiness, that pain…it kills me. You deserve better."

"And you don't?" Wilson asked sharply.

"I didn't mean it when I stuck that knife in the socket or when I accepted that infected transfusion. If I really meant it, I would have already succeeded."

"What about when you took the oxycodon last Christmas?"

"What about that?"

"You meant it then, didn't you?"

House was quiet.

"Don't lie to me," Wilson said. House had been evading each of his questions, but this one was inescapable.

"I meant it then," House said a little louder than he intended. He brought his voice back to the quiet volume at which they had been speaking. "Does that change anything? I meant it then, but I've had a change of heart these past few months," his words were tinged with a subtle sarcasm. "I'm not ready to die, ok? But this isn't about me. This is about you."

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**a/n: sorry this took so long. This is the last chapter. I really hope you enjoyed, and thank you so much for the reviews! **

**a/n2: sorry if House is a little OOC...I'm not used to writing happy endings ;-) **

"Why was there a pill on your desk?"

Wilson did not answer.

"You wanted me to find it, didn't you?"

Still no answer.

House nodded and turned toward Wilson, "I'm glad I did."

Wilson smiled out of courtesy and House noticed for the first time the fatigue evident in his friend's face.

"But don't repeat that. I don't want people thinking I'm all soft on the inside. Because I'm not," House was trying for a little humor. Wilson rubbed his forehead."Ah, trust me, nobody thinks you're a softy," he sighed.

"You need help," House said bluntly, startling Wilson.

"I know," Wilson whispered.

"I need to tell Cuddy," House continued.

Wilson dropped his head back.

"You know I need to. It would be irresponsible if I didn't."

"When has being responsible ever mattered to you before?"

"She's Cuddy. She'll understand."

"Maybe we could just pretend none of this happened. Like a bad dream or something."

This time, House didn't answer.

"I know, I know," Wilson conceded.

The two sat in silence for a few moments. House started the car and began to pull out of the parking lot. He stopped suddenly, and Wilson turned to him, "What's wrong?"

House tilted his head slightly, "We're at the airport."

"Yeah, remember? The whole sending-me-to-rehab thing?" Wilson asked sarcastically.

House rolled his eyes at him, "Why waste this car trip?"

"What are you suggesting? That because we drove to the airport we might as well go to Disney World?" Wilson was getting irritated.

"If that's where you want to go," House smiled.

"You can't be serious," Wilson's tone betrayed him.

"Why not?" House asked again.

Wilson bit his lip, "What about Cuddy?"

"We'll call her when we get there," House replied.

"Call her when we get where?"

"Where ever you want to go."

"Come on, House. Can we stop this and just go back? I'm tired," Wilson stopped entertaining the idea.

"You're right," House sighed.

"I am? I mean, _I am_."

"Yeah, I'd be worrying all weekend that you would try to off yourself," House pulled out of the parking lot.

"Ah, don't worry about that. It was stupid."

They drove in silence the rest of the way. House parked next to Wilson's car behind the hospital and placed a call to Cuddy to let her know what had happened.

House listened for a long while, giving monosyllabic responses. When he hung up, Wilson looked to him in anticipation.

"She wants you to go straight to her house. She doesn't want to wait until the morning to sort this out," House said calmly.

"You're coming, too, right?" Wilson suddenly sounded scared.

"Well, I had a date with my TV tonight, but I think she'll understand."

Wilson didn't move to get out of the car.

"Hey, remember the rehab fund I mentioned before?"

Wilson nodded.

"I wasn't kidding about that. I have a few grand socked away just in case Cuddy ever forced me into a real facility."

Wilson nodded again.

"I have absolutely no intention of ever going to rehab."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I also wasn't kidding when we were at the airport about taking an impromptu vacation. When you start to feel better, we'll go somewhere. Cuddy can come, too, if she wants."

Wilson laughed.

"Not kidding!" House said in mock anger.

"And if we do go to Disney, we can cut all the lines because of the cane," House smiled.

"Sounds like a plan," Wilson smiled the first genuine smile House had seen from him in a long while.

They pulled out of the parking lot and drove toward Cuddy's.

The End


End file.
